


Let Food Be Thy Medicine

by WolfesPuppies



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Issues, M/M, More comfort than hurt, Past Torture, christopher wolfe has ptsd, very briefly mentioned - Freeform, why is this not a tag yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22881667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfesPuppies/pseuds/WolfesPuppies
Summary: Food has been an issue for Wolfe since his return. Nic wants to help.
Relationships: Niccolo Santi/Christopher Wolfe
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Let Food Be Thy Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of came from a few things I noticed in the books, mainly that Santi often pours wine for Wolfe, and it...grew from there.
> 
> I have no knowledge of disorded eating or anything like that, so apologies for anyone who knows better than me. I am aware it's a heavy subject, so please stay safe!

Food has been an issue for Wolfe since a few weeks after his return. At first it was fine - too weak and too much in pain to get anything for himself, or even hold the bowl, he relied on Nic fetching food and feeding him. The trouble started when Nic went back to work, and Wolfe had to get it himself. A year of existing on rations given to him and nothing else had made normal hunger cues almost impossible, and there was too much choice, enough that he'd panicked himself into an anxiety attack standing in front of the ice box one day. The welts may have healed, but Wolfe wouldn't soon forget the memory of his first time in the warm, comfortable room he was sometimes taken to.

There were pastries on the table in front of him, and Wolfe, stomach growling, hadn't wasted time in grabbing one, not noticing Qualls' sigh of disapproval. He did notice the guard grabbing his wrist, the other one twisting his shoulder up behind his back, still painful from being dislocated and roughly reset the day better, and the cane striking down on his palm. Wolfe had shrieked and cried and pulled, but the guard had been implacable and Qualls impassive for five strikes on each hand.

The next time he was taken to the room, he'd not had his rations for two days, and the thin scratchy blanket, his one comfort, had disappeared from his cell at the same time, so by the time he sat on the soft chair, Wolfe was shivering with a bone deep cold, stomach cramping and lips cracking. In front of him was a plate with pastries, golden and flaky and fresh from the oven, bright fresh fruit, a tall glass of water with condensation dripping down the side, a hot mug of tea, steam coming off it in curlicues. Wolfe didn’t dare reach for any of it, keeping his hands curled against himself protectively. They'd sat in silence for half an hour or more, the tea cooling, until Qualls smiled softly.

“Good. So you can learn. Eat, Scholar.”

Wolfe still didn’t move, unwilling to believe he’d be allowed the cornucopia in front of him, and so Qualls plucked a grape from the bunch and handed it to him. It burst in Wolfe’s mouth, sweet and juicy and the best thing he’d ever tasted.

The lesson was clear. You are permitted what the Library gives you, nothing more.

_

Wolfe is sat on the sofa, reading a Blank, when Nic comes home from the barracks late one evening.

"Have you eaten yet?"

Wolfe shakes his head. He'd got engrossed in the story, and then lunch had passed him by, and by the time he'd realised he was actually hungry, his brain had successfully convinced him the time for food was passed, and he would have to wait until the next day. He doesn't tell Nic this though. He would only worry.

Nic comes and sits next to Wolfe on the sofa, and Wolfe marks his page carefully before turning to face Nic, who takes both of Wolfes hands in his own.

"How can I help? How can I make this easier for you?"

Wolfe doesn't know how to reply at first. The physical effects of what was done to him are so much easier to talk about, because he doesn’t _need_ to talk about them, Nic can read the story in the scars on his body. The mental effects are much harder. They require Wolfe actually acknowledging his broken brain, shuffling through the damage to find what remains and pulling it out into the air. Talking about what happened means telling Nic what happened, which would make Nic worry, that little crease would appear between his eyebrows and he'd try and fail to hide the anger in his eyes. But. If anyone can make it better, it’s Nic.

"Too much choice. I. I don’t know what I'm allowed."

There it is, out in the open, and there’s that crease and the not so hidden anger, and now Nic’s hands are tightening around Wolfe’s wrists. He doesn't know, he couldn't, but even so Wolfe is impressed with how calm and steady his voice sounds as he says, "Let go," when his brain is insisting pain is coming. Wolfe hates that that is something to be impressed by.

Nic does, snatching his hands away like they've been burnt, and Wolfe hides his own in his shirt, curling over them protectively. He sees the moment realisation dawns on Nic’s face

"Were you - did they hurt you, for taking food?"

Wolfe can only nod, phantom fingers still curled around his wrist. Nic takes two deep, carefully controlled breaths, not quite enough to quell the shaking in his own hands.

“I know you don’t want to be coddled, but you need to eat. So, when we make dinner at night, we’ll make enough for there to be three portions, and that can be lunch for you, just for you, for the next day.”

There is so much in that, almost too much for Wolfe to handle. The humiliation of having to be told what food is his so his brain will let him eat, the sheer sense of relief of being told that, the kindness of Nic saying ‘we’ as though as Wolfe is an active participant in making dinner, and he doesn’t just sit at the table and watch, his hands still too painful to do much of the busywork. Absurdly, tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, and he shuts them tightly to try and prevent them from falling.

“Can I hug you?”

Wolfe shakes his head hard. He knows if he lets Nic hug him, he’ll let his emotions take over, and the traitorous little voice in in his head is already whispering _you’re such a burden to him_. He follows Nic’s example and takes a few deep breaths, and when he’s mastered himself, opens his eyes again, and nods.

“Okay.”

They both pretend Wolfe’s voice doesn’t break half-way through the word.

_

**_Codex message from Captain Niccolo Santi, to Scholar Christopher Wolfe_ :**

_Are you free? I have a few minutes while I eat._

Wolfe is a little startled by the chiming of his Codex, engrossed as he is in his latest book. The one good thing about his enforced break from research, he can finally catch up on all the other books he refuses to admit he likes. He smiles a little when he sees the message, and replies quickly.

_I know what you’re doing_

Even so, he gets up and retrieves the box of leftovers, and for the first time in a while, he isn’t hit by the fear of taking food that he isn’t permitted. This is far from the first time they’ve had a meal together via Codex, and it’s this that makes it acceptable to Wolfe – it’s a resumption of an old habit, not something new created to soothe his broken brain.

_I’ve been gifted a bunch of new recruits, and not one of them knows how to strip and clean a weapon properly._

_You’ll be late home tonight then?_

_Maybe. I might give them to Zara, she deserves it after embarrassing me in front of them._

_What did she do?_

_Told stories of the bar fights I get into._

_You deserve that._

The gentle teasing is familiar and comfortable enough that Wolfe doesn’t even notice when he’s finished, and whilst actual eating hadn’t really been a problem, it was more remembering to eat and knowing what he could eat, the distraction is still nice, and very much welcomed.

_I will give them to Zara. I want to be at home with you. See you later._

_See you later._

A few minutes later, Wolfe sends another message.

_Thank you._

They fall into a routine over the next few weeks. Nic will send a message, something innocuous, Wolfe will reply with _I know what you’re doing_ , and they will talk about everything and nothing as they eat.

The real change comes the day Wolfe opens the ice box, sees the box that has been designated as ‘his’, and doesn’t want what’s inside. Nic is a wonderful chef, but leftovers can grate on a man, especially when it’s a lentil stew, and in the pot next to it there’s a rich tomato sauce, and Wolfe knows there’s enough pasta for two portions, so Nic can still have it for dinner if he wants. Before Wolfe can think about it too much, he’s pulling the sauce out and finding a small pan to boil some water. By the time his brain catches up, he’s half-way through cooking, and he won’t let himself ruin a meal at this point. There’s no message from Nic today, he’s in a logistics meeting that’s scheduled to take the entire day, but by the time Wolfe has finished and washed up, there’s still no more than a vague sense of unease in his chest. Greater than that though is the satisfaction of having ‘cooked’ a meal for Nic, for when he gets home. The overly critical part of Wolfe’s brain, the part he can never get to shut up for more than half a day or so, the same one that used to tell him he’d missed the window for eating that day, whispers _you boiled some water, literally anyone can do that._

_Oh, fuck off._

It’s far from the first time Wolfe’s tried to get his inner critic to shut up, but today, in the wake of the minor victory, it recedes to the very back of his mind.

_You can stay there as well._


End file.
